Living with It
by Sins of Angels
Summary: Topher didn't know why the dolls weren't truly happy, but what bothered him even more was that he wasn't sure why he cared. Takes place immediately after Belonging  2x4 .


"Are-are you happy?"

It was a stupid question. He knew it was right away. The moment he locked eyes with her, and she smiled at him, he knew it was a stupid question.

"Of course. I'm going to go swim in the pool."

"And that makes you happy?"

The smile became slightly puzzled. "Of course," Tango repeated, entertaining the man. He sighed and waved her off toward the pool, and she glided along in that special way that all the Dolls do. Sighing, he brought his hands up and behind his head, looking around at the other dolls. There's Sierra. Holding hands with…who else. Victor. Love. He wondered why no one else had noticed them yet. Or maybe they had? Was love something Attic-worthy?

That didn't matter. What did matter was that he was down here asking Actives about their feelings when he was already behind schedule due to Sierra's….thing. But Ivy was there and she stepped in and did a few imprints. He told her he went off to sleep, but he found he just couldn't. He could still smell it. The blood. Acid. Hear the fizz. See it, all of it.

And there was Sierra, who did it. Who killed someone. Blissful. Happy. In love.

His feet carried him to his office. He checked the schedule: no imprints for a while. Carefully, he walked over to the room that held the chair and opened the door, entering quickly and turning to close it quietly. A lock slid into place.

He would only sit in it. He didn't want to be a Doll, he just wanted to sit in it for a moment. He had walked in on Ballard doing it before. Maybe it helped. Maybe he could map his brain. DeWitt would allow it. It'd be "Research". He wanted to have something to compare. A few normal brains. Maybe he'd ask for Boyd's, too…

He turned.

It was occupied.

Immediately he was against the door and breathing quickly, arm protecting his head and him firmly staring at the floor. "Wha-what the _hell_, Saunders!" he managed to gasp out amidst the shock. The woman seemed unmoved.

She tilted her head to one side. "Here to mess with your precious electronics, Topher?" she asked, eyeing the man. He nodded after a fraction of a second. He was lying. "Or were you here to imprint Sierra for the last time?" He twitched. "Yes, I know. Computer skills, remember?" she laughed bitterly. "Topher Brink, on his throne. Oh, I'm sorry, am I sitting in it?" she fidgeted over to one side, keeping her eyes on the man. His breathing was calmer. He wasn't as tense, but he wasn't moving. She leaned forward. "Mr. Brink?" she asked with a slightly mocking smile.

His arm lowered, to show his face. It was ashen white. "Doctor," he said feebly. He seemed to be looking straight through her. Her smile vanished. "So nice of you to come back. Boyd would be happy." His words were short and clipped. She retreated somewhat. Something was wrong.

"I'm…not back."

He walked over to his computer, turning his back to her. "You sure seem to be. That is you sitting in the chair."

She looked at the chair uncomfortably now. Somewhere in the last six sentences, she had lost the higher ground. She leaned forward, still in the chair, and whispered her next words. "I want you to fix me."

This caused him to turn around. He opened his mouth, and she was ready for the gloating sure to come. But then he closed it again and turned back. "I can't."

"Why not?" she asked, looking away from him. "I'm the broken doll. You should fix me. Make me forget this, forget all of it. And then I'll be back to the useful tool the House needed."

He stopped his idle work and put his hands down on either side of his keyboard. He sighed. "Sometimes people just need to learn to live with it."

"I'm not a person."

"You're more of a person than I am," he muttered. She heard and sat back in the chair loudly. It made him wince.

"I'm what you created, oh Lord," she said bitterly. "I'm what you made me."

"Are they happy?" He cut her off before she could build up steam. He was looking at the wall that led out to the main room. Like it wasn't there. She followed his gaze. "I figured you'd know," he added, after a few moments of silence. "Being the caring-type."

"They're…content. For the most part." Her gaze was on him again, and he turned to face her fully.

"Content. That's not really happy. November seemed happy. Or maybe she was content too."

"Topher!" Claire said, tired of playing this game with him. Whatever made him sad wasn't her business. "Wipe me. Put me back to before I knew."

He stared at her, as if he was seeing her for the first time since he entered the room. "No," he said finally. "Sometimes you just have to live with things."

"That's the thing, Topher. I don't have to."

His eyes widened. Had it been half a day already since Priya sat in that chair and told him the same thing? He wheeled around and gripped the edge of his little table, closing his eyes and breathing heavily. "You're Dr. Saunders. You chose to be, and you chose to stay Dr. Saunders. I wipe you now, you just do it all again. Finding it, and then asking me to wipe you again. Where does that end? There are…consequences." He winced at the word.

"What does the great Topher Brink know of consequences?" Claire questioned harshly. He took a moment before he turned to her and crossed his arms. He didn't look at her, only at the floor.

"I can't do it."

"Well, I can!" she said forcefully and reached back towards the buttons on the chair. It lowered her into the seat and inched her closer and closer to the serene blue light. Her eyes were misting up. Was this her version of a suicide? How incredibly sad. Just a moment, now, before the pain and then…nothing.

Cold, clammy hands grabbed her arms and held her up and away from the light. She snapped her head forward and opened her eyes to see Topher, holding on so she doesn't lean back. He looked…scared. "Don't do it," he whispered. "Please don't do it."

"Why not?" she whispered, staring at the man. Was this really Topher? He was near tears.

"Don't do it. Please don't. Please." He pulled her closer to him, hugged her, while her brain was too busy to notice. "Please, stay. Please, don't do this to yourself. I can't do this alone. Just come back. Come back."

She pushed him away forcefully. He staggered back, looking at her with surprise. She didn't sit back into the chair, though. "Who did you think I was?" she asked quietly after a moment. His eyes darted away.

"No one," he lied bitterly. He straightened up and went to his computer again. "What…what did you want me to do?"

She took a moment to answer. "…Nothing. Forget it." He didn't turn around until he was sure that the elevator door was closed. She must have left again, leaving the city. Because she finds him so…what was it? Unbearable. The light went off. The chair came up again. And he sighed. "Phantom," he muttered with a forced smile on his lips.

Enough of this silliness, this wallowing. Sierra was fine. The actives were content. Maybe he could look into making them happy, too. He made Echo a mother, a little happiness shouldn't be that hard. Maybe he should make them like him. The thought of Sierra came to mind again, with Victor. No. Content is fine, because it's far from sad. And she seems happy, with him. And he with her. And that should be the end.

"I know what I know," he whispered to himself before leaving the imprint room and walking to his little cot.


End file.
